


All The Wrong Friends In All The Wrong Places

by starkind



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Alternate universe - Mafia, Anti-Hero, BAMF Tony Stark, Canonical Character Death, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dark Bruce Wayne, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Gun Violence, Hostage Situations, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Mind Games, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Physical Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Supervillains, Tony Angst, World Domination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2018-12-23 01:46:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: What if Tony Stark did not spend three months in captivity in Afghanistan, but in Gotham City?What if Bruce Wayne was just as cunning, dedicated and unyielding, but without a sense of morality?This is not a story about heroes. It's a story about money, power, and respect.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am heavily teetering on the edge of 'the dark side' with this one. Again. I said I wouldn't, and I really don't know why, but this plot bunny was especially sharp-toothed. The title is corrupting a line from a One Republic's song called 'All The Right Moves' which somehow got stuck in my head along with this fic idea.
> 
> Even if I cannot foresee all warnings that will be necessary in the end, be aware this is not your happy-go-lucky fic. It will not feature gore and/or underage, but please mind the tags section that will be updated as the story proceeds. This is my IronBat!Noir verse. Dark themes, anti-heroes, and lots of no good stuff... you get the drift. 
> 
> Still - happy reading to anyone who dares to give this a shot :)

Tony came to with a pain-filled groan.

His head was swimming and it took him several tries until he was able to blink encrusted eyelids open to cold, artificial light. He was tied to a chair, arms behind his back, and feet strapped to each chair leg. Blotted red spots marked both his shredded designer pants and shirt. The last thing he remembered was being on his way home from a party in Beverly Hills. Being a rich bachelor in his prime made for a lot of invitations.

Around 3 am, on the deserted PCH, a dark sports car without license plate had sped past before it ran him and his precious Audi R8 off the street seconds later. After crashing into the highway guardrails, everything was a mishmash blur of black, red, and pain.

“About time.”

An icy baritone prompted Tony to dare and raise his head from where it had hung low on his chest. He blinked again and found himself staring right into a pair of deep-set, sharp, and cold eyes. They were of greenish-brown color and belonged to a man whom Tony never met, but instantly deemed beautiful. Not just handsome, but beautiful. Beautiful, and exuding an aura of fear and brutality.

“Where'm I? Who're you?”  
  
His voice sounded slurred, and Tony figured he might be concussed after the car crash. Beautiful-but-deadly gave the sparest smile Tony had ever seen. Even that smile seemed savage. “Neither is important.” Tony opened his mouth to argue, but even before he made any sound, he got backhanded out of nowhere. “Unless I ask for your opinion, you keep your mouth shut, understood?”  
  
Ears ringing from the blow, Tony bit his lip, closed his eyes against a prickle of tears, and gave a nod.  
  
“Good.”  
  
When he dared to open them again, the other man stood, arms akimbo, and regarded him like he was prey. He was tall, of athletic build, and dressed like any other businessman in a crisp white button-down shirt with tie, black pants, and what looked like a pair of expensive dress shoes. The only difference to the usual mid-thirties broker or lawyer on the streets was the slim, black shoulder holster on his side.

The arms manufacturer in Tony instantly recognized the gun nestled within as a SIG P226; ironically a gun designed for the US military and carried by elite forces. The man in front of him clearly belonged to neither category, and a new wave of fear washed over Tony. His eyes skimmed along the surroundings. He was sitting in a medium-sized room with a single door to his left and solid brick walls everywhere else.

It looked like a typical interrogation room.  
  
Tony's heartbeat quickened when a knock from outside interrupted his mental inventory. The door opened a sliver, and a young man peeked inside. “Boss?” Hazel eyes narrowed in irritation. “What is it?” The intruder's eyes flickered over into Tony's direction. “Phone call. Line one.” His voice was steady even after being growled at. Deadly-eyes looked as if he was about to go on a rampage, and Tony tried to make himself smaller.

Eventually, the other man abandoned his looming position and cast his employee a look. “Stay here.” With powerful strides, he brushed past him and disappeared. As soon as the intimidating presence had left the room, Tony allowed a small sigh to escape his mouth. His lips were dry and brittle, just like his throat. He had no idea what the kidnapping was about, but he was almost certain it boiled down to money issues.  
  
Tony Stark was a playboy billionaire par excellence. He lived publicly and lavishly, offended a great deal of people on a regular basis, and was America's biggest weapons' manufacturer. Many would pay good money to see him six feet under. The youngster regarded him with ennui and Tony decided to try his luck. "Can I have some water?” His voice was hoarse and sounded foreign to him as he croaked out his question.

The guard had not bothered to take a seat and leaned in the doorway. Tony could feel the pain seeping through every single muscle in his body, and felt like he was at a point of passing out from dehydration. The young man kept on watching him at gunpoint, oblivious to his torment. “If the boss said so.” Before Tony could become desperate enough to lie about being allowed to drink, there was another knock on the door.

His guard positioned himself so that he could look over his shoulder while keeping an eye on Tony. Through the ajar door, a hushed conversation took place and Tony strained to listen in on it. “Master Wayne?” It was an older, British voice, also male. His guard shook his head. “No. Upstairs. Hey, you think you can get me some water?” At that, Tony almost sobbed out loud in relief. “Of course, Sir.”  
  
“Thanks, Al.”

When the guard turned back to face his prisoner, a small cup was in his hand. He locked the door and walked over to press the plastic rim to Tony's lips. “Make it quick. And not a word.” Slurping with greed, Tony did not care about the mess he made as the liquid dribbled down his chin. Being too hasty, he coughed up some of the liquid, and the other man took the cup away with a disdained curl of the lip.

“Thank you.”  
The young man gave no response to his wheezing. Instead, he crumpled the plastic into a little ball and muttered to himself.  
“Bruce's gonna kill me.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce 'Dark Knight' Wayne. Gotham City's most feared mob gangster and head of the powerful Miagani clan.  
  
Tony knew his days were numbered. The Miagani were ruling over the East Coast ever since Wayne had taken up the reins three years ago. His reputation on the streets was fearsome. His parents, wealthy and influential throughout their lives, had been killed by the local mob some twenty years ago when Bruce still was a child. He had officially been declared dead but reappeared in his hometown at the age of 30.

In less than a month, Wayne then went and eradicated all of Carmine Falcone's and Sal Maroni's stranglehold on the city. He burnt down their family and friends' homes, and executed anyone involved with either clan until there was no one else ruling the streets but Wayne and his caporegime. Instilling fear was his modus operandi, and the Miagani became known for extortion, tax evasion, and murder.

Not even the city's most famous Commissioner Gordon from the GCPD dared to go up against the Price of Gotham and his gang; most police officers were on Wayne's payroll anyhow. Tony swallowed. It was only a matter of time until he would end up with a bullet in between the eyes, or worse. He then did something he had not done since he was a little boy of seven years. He started to pray.

~

From his place behind the huge mahogany desk, Bruce lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair. He kept his elbow up on the armrest, twirling an expensive Cuban smoke in between two fingers as he waited for the video feed to load on the notebook in front. A bald man with a full beard and beady eyes appeared on the screen. Neither of them attempted a smile.  
  
"Mission successful?"  
Instead of an answer, Bruce held up a small, bloodied item.  
His opposite had to lean in closer to the screen until he was able to identify the driver's license.  
  
“Alive?”  
Bruce's smirk was lethal as he flicked the ID out of sight to land on his table.  
“For now.”  
  
A nod from the bald man.  
“Exchange takes place tomorrow night, like planned.”  
“Ten million dollars.”  
  
The casual way in which Bruce said it made the other man snort.  
“Five, as discussed.”  
The Dark Knight gave a minuscule tilt of the head.  
  
“I changed my mind. Ten. Else we'll skin him alive.”  
Two gray, furry brows wrinkled.  
“We had an agreement.”  
  
Wayne's thin lips curled with apparent boredom.  
“Stop wasting my time. You want him or you don't. Ten million dollars. Choose.”  
The bearded jaw on the other screen worked in silence.  
  
“I'll need more time for that.”  
With an idle motion, Bruce balanced the cigar on his thumb.  
“Two days. After that, Stark's dead.”  
  
Obadiah Stane glared at him until Wayne leaned forward and cut the connection.  
The Ten Rings were just the kind of people Bruce hated to bother with. Usually.  
A little money on the side never hurt anyone. Least of all him.  
  
~

Tony woke from a brief bout of either unconsciousness or a slumber he did not remember to fall into. He was relieved to find his vision was not blurry anymore, even if his whole body still felt like it had been put through the wringer. His eyes skimmed along the semi-darkened room. Someone apparently had rearranged his shackles and the furniture, for he was now laying on a small, hard cot, hands tied in front of his body.

A bucket in the corner had appeared out of nowhere, just like a piece of bread and a cup of water. He gobbled up the small ration and went to relieve himself. A glimmer of hope sparked within him at the meager improvements. That was until he was led out of his cell by the same guy who had brought him water. Tony tried for a smile but his guard kept on poking an automatic rifle into his back and remained detached.

They entered a spacious office. Two men he had not seen around before were with Wayne. One was sprawled out on a sofa, the other stood behind the mafia boss almost like a huge bodyguard. Tony was forced to sit down on a chair in front of his big desk before his guard left the room again. Instead of the mafia boss, however, someone else spoke up. “Did you know that your folks are hesitant to pay for your life?”

Tony glanced at the cheeky man in the corner who had one leg swung over the armrest of the couch.  
“Man, that must suck.”  
The tall, black-haired muscle in the back crossed his arms, mouth a grim line.

“Hal.”  
  
His warning tone made the flippant man shut up. Tony's eyes darted back to the man in front and found Wayne's eyes drilling into him. He swallowed and licked his lips. “Whatever they wanted to pay, I can double up. Easily.” Bruce Wayne regarded him like a black mamba would regard a fluffy white rabbit. “Uninteresting.” The last grains inside the proverbial hourglass began to fizzle out before Tony's inner eye.

“H- how about weapons instead?”  
A feral glint entered Wayne's eyes.  
"Now we're talking."

In a smooth motion, he pulled his SIG on Tony. “You build what I want, I might let you live.” It must have been the utter shock on Stark's face that caused Wayne's mouth to twitch into a nasty smirk. “What... what kind of weapons?” Not bothering to give him an answer, Wayne holstered his gun and pressed a button on a comm. A posh and professional sounding, British voice answered immediately. “Sir?”

“Meeting with Fox at 9.”  
  
“Very well, Sir. The Gotham Grand?”

“Yes.”

Wayne then leaned back, elbows atop the armrests of his chair, and steepled his fingers.

"Clark."  
  
At that, big muscle leaned forward.  
  
"Yes?"

"Mister Stark needs to change before we leave."

Tony glimpsed down at his tattered and bloodied clothes. When he looked back up, two glacial-blue eyes pierced into him.

"Follow me."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I finally get to show how/where I got a massive inspo boost for this one - these awesome manips made me fall in love: 
> 
> http://harleynza.tumblr.com/post/25106204067/characters-dark-bruce-waynebatman  
> http://harleynza.tumblr.com/post/25105236046/characters-dark-bruce-waynebatman
> 
> All credit to the amazing artist! Too bad I haven't watched the movie Scarface yet (which is where the original pictures stem from if I'm not mistaken. At least this fic has got Tony Stark instead of Tony Montoya ;))
> 
> Oh, and Bruce's mafia clan is named after something DC describes on their wikipage as 'Bat People'. Well, I just thought it sounds fancy, fitting, and totally like a mafia-mob-name, lol. If anyone is interested, here's the source: 
> 
> http://dc.wikia.com/wiki/Miagani


	3. Chapter 3

Intimidating bodyguard Clark, as Tony had silently named him, led him into an elevator and into a wide atrium on the 12th floor. Plush carpeting swallowed each of their steps, and blank, white walls on endless corridors made it easy to get lost. His taciturn guard stopped in front of a nondescript room and swiped a card over its lock. A little electronic whirr, then the door popped open with a click.

“Shower. You've got ten minutes.”

Tony peeked into the posh-looking suite, perceiving some sort of trap. Clark gave a non-too-soft push in between his shoulder blades and he stumbled forward. “What should I wear?” The tall man's forehead creased. “A body bag if I had a say in this.” Mumbling along he stepped inside and slid the doors of a built-in closet open. An indistinguishable heap of dark clothes got thrown Tony's way. “See what fits. Barry's taller than you.”

Stark managed to grab most of it and bend down to pick the rest up from the floor.

Holding it as far away from his grimy tatters as possible, Tony shuffled into the bathroom. For a moment, his hand hovered over the doorknob. Clark's biceps twitched. “You lock the door, you're a dead man.” Opposed to his fears, Clark stayed outside the ajar bathroom door until Tony was done. He relished the hot water pelting down on his aching muscles and scrubbed as vigorously as his scraped-over bruises would allow him to.

A razor was out of the question, but his goatee still looked moderately trimmed. Once he was dressed in a dark-gray shirt and dress pants turned up to cover their excess length, Clark steered him back in the elevator and down into an open three-story art deco lobby. It was dominated by black and white marble with polished surfaces throughout and had a prominent hallway trim. “Keep your head down and get in the car. No fuss.”

Clark then made him go first through the heavy brass revolving door. It was the first time ever since his capture that Tony was allowed to set a foot outside, and he took a deep breath despite the proximity of a populated street. Parked up front was a black BMW 3 series with tinted windows and cocky Hal behind the wheel. Wedged next to Clark's solid frame on the backseat, Tony dared to look over his shoulder.

Wayne Tower was illuminated by tasteful exterior lights, its corners and rooftop adorned by massive and frightful-looking gargoyle statues. It soon vanished from view as Hal turned a corner. “Hope you picked from Barry's Salvation Army pile.” Through the rear-view mirror, Hal's disrespectful gaze first met Tony, then Clark. The latter harrumphed. “Shut up and drive. We're gonna be late as it is.”

~

The Gotham Grand was a luxury restaurant nestled within a hotel. To Tony's surprise, they drove past the official valet parking service and headed for a separate entry around the back. A dark Italian sports car was already parked up in what looked like a handful of private parking spaces. Two bouncer-like men stood guard at the door but opened as soon as Hal and Clark stepped out of the car.

With Tony in their middle, they passed a ceiling-high felt curtain in crimson red and entered a dim-lit, cozy atmosphere. Over distant chatter, soft violin music played in the back. The smell of food wafted through the air and Tony's stomach began to growl in response. The three of them headed straight for a secluded section, and even if Tony dared to glimpse at the other guests, it was too dark to recognize faces.

At a table set for six, two men sat and talked over a rich selection of food and beverages. One of them was Wayne, who had already finished eating what looked to have been a rack of lamb with potato purée. An elder man with gray, curly hair sat alongside him. The conversation came to an abrupt stop upon their arrival. To the curious eyes of the older man by his side, Wayne pointed his chin at him. “Tony Stark.”  
  
Tony held out his hand to which the stranger stood up. “Lucius Fox, CEO of Wayne Enterprises.” His voice was silken and deep, betraying the fact that the hilt of a semi-automatic flashed from under his dinner jacket as he moved to shake Tony's hand. “I've heard many great things about you, Mister Stark.” He sounded genuine, so Tony indicated a bow. “Being smart, rich, and influencing sure spreads the word.”

Fox' smile turned sly. “I guess you can say that.” Even without paying attention to the business part of his life, Tony knew the Wayne conglomerate was making a fortune on M&A projects, both of the legal and the semi-legal kind. Wayne himself then made an impatient gesture, to which all of them sat down. Clark and Hal wasted no time disappearing behind the menus while Tony eyed the bread basket with growing anxiety.

Wayne, though back in discussion with Fox, snapped his fingers to which a waiter instantly arrived with another menu for Tony.

When he tried to read the cursive writing in the dim light, he could feel his concussion still causing him a headache the more he tried to focus. Across from him, Clark and Hal had already placed their orders. “Hurry up.” Wayne's voice was sharp, and so Tony picked the same as they did before he handed the menu back. Fox was gentle enough to inch the bread basket closer into his direction upon seeing his hungry, longing gaze.

“Now Mister Stark, I believe I have heard people calling you the Merchant of Death. Is that true?”

Mouth full of rich white bread with olive oil, Tony hurried to chew and swallow it up. “I usually don't get bogged down in semantics, but yeah, ever since the successful implementation of the Jericho prototype, I seem to be stuck on that moniker. But it's a good thing to be both feared and respected." Wayne dissecting glare made him snap his mouth shut and stop rambling. Fox, however, leaned forward. “Jericho?”

Taking a sip from a nearby glass of water, Tony washed the slice of bread down and nodded. "World's first missile system that incorporates our proprietary repulsor technology. I'm actually quite proud of it.” Fox stopped smoothing out the linen napkin in his hand and put it aside. His eyes searched and found those of Wayne. “We should keep that in mind for project FR.” Silence. Eventually, the mafia boss tilted his head with a smirk. 

“How have I not thought about that myself.”  
Upon his pleased expression, Fox gave an almost fatherly pat to Wayne's wrist.  
“I am not your consigliere for nothing, Bruce.”

The ordered food arrived on steaming plates and made Tony forget about anything else for time being. Part of him listened to the discussions that revolved around projects and names foreign to him, part of him devoured as much of the tenderloin steak as possible. He did not know when or where his next real meal would come from, seeing he had been living on measly rations of bread, crackers, and water.

Wayne and Fox each ordered an espresso. To go with it, Wayne pulled a cigarette from a Sterling silver case and patted his breast pocket. In less than a second, Fox leaned in with a click from a lighter. Smoke wafted through the air soon after. At some point, Tony felt his stomach rebel at the sudden intake of rich, fatty food and put his cutlery aside to take a sip of water. When he dared to look up, Wayne's cold gaze was resting on him.

Feeling abashed without knowing why Tony was quick to blink down at his plate.

~

After the meeting was done, Fox left through the front entrance while Wayne's men fell into lockstep with him. Upon closer inspection, Tony realized the Italian sports car in the parking lot turned out to be a dark-gray Lamborghini Murciélago. It came to life with a blip and a flicker of its headlights as the Miagani's leader unlocked it from afar. Twirling his own car keys around a finger, Hal leaned against his BMW.

“Home, boss?”

“No. Upper West Hill. Follow me.”  
His eyes zeroed in on Tony's small frame.  
“You ride with me.”

Clark and Hal looked about to object, but a stern glance from their boss made them retreat to their vehicle. Tony nearly slammed the passenger door in his jaw, not expecting it to open vertically. “My R8 doesn't have scissor doors.” He slipped into the leather seat and yanked the door shut with difficulty. Wayne did not give a reply other than turning the ignition and putting his hand on the gated shifter to set the car in reverse.

As soon as the Murciélago was out in the open, Wayne accelerated without warning. The Lamborghini had a stiff suspension that made every bump in the road feasible, and its driver took great pleasure in taking sharp turns. Tony's sore body and full stomach were all too glad that, after a 20-minute drive, they stopped at a dark alleyway. Hal's BMW had followed close behind, its flashlights low, and stayed at a respectable distance.

“I wait here, or...?”  
With a click, Wayne unbuckled and opened the door.  
“Move.”

Tony followed suit, glimpsing at their backup. By now, Clark and Hal had exited the BMW and were blocking the view from the street. Wayne headed for a small and rickety fast food vendor in the corner. Standing under a street lamp was a man who had just ordered food and reached over the dented metal counter to receive it.

“Flass.”

The stout man flinched and dropped his falafel. It splattered onto wet asphalt, right in front of Bruce's leather shoes. While Flass' eyes darted from the lost food to the menacing man and back, Wayne narrowed his. “Payment's overdue.” The man had a round, bearded face with little beady eyes. He began to gesture along with the napkin in his hand. "It's almost the end of the month. Had a couple of bills to pay in advance..."

The mafia boss nodded at him with faux understanding, only to pull his gun on him just mere seconds later. “Nothing would make me happier than destroying you bit by bit. But it's late and I am tired, so let’s make this quick. Do you have the money?” Full of fear, Flass raised his hands. The small paper napkin sailed to the ground and got soaked in a puddle. “N-no, like I said I... Please, Mister Wayne, Sir, I...”  
  
“Shut up you worthless piece of shit! Where's the three grand you owe me?”  
Wayne's tone was sharp enough to slice glass.  
“I... might have half of it. I-in my glove box... if only you could...”

Towering over him with a good four inches, Wayne stared at him over the muzzle of his gun.  
“Go get it.”  
Flass blundered as he caught sight of an approaching Clark down the alley.

“I-- I left my car around the corner, and...”  
His eyes darted over to a dumbstruck Tony and back to Wayne.  
“Ten seconds. Move.”

The small click of a hammer being cocked filled the air. Flass' eyes widened in utter devastation and horror.  
“I cannot make it that fast, it's at the end of the road, and...”  
Bruce's lips twitched with sardonic glee.  
  
“That’s all you're going to get, so...”  
He tilted his left wrist slightly to look at his watch.  
Flass wiped a shaking palm over his mouth.  
  
“I swear to God I have it, just...”  
Wayne's thumb curled around the trigger of his SIG.  
“Swear to me.”

The nervous man nodded, turned around, and began to break into a run. Before Tony had counted to five, a single shot rang out. He flinched, lowered his head, and closed his eyes. When dared to raise his head again, Flass lay crumpled on the ground in a heap. Heart thumping fast against his ribcage, Tony watched Bruce lower his gun and slip it back into his shoulder holster with maddening precision.

Nothing on his face seemed to indicate any emotion, except maybe boredom. He made a small gesture with a finger, to which Hal headed for the body. “He said he was going to get it.” Tony's voice sounded hollow and far away to his own ears. “They all do.” Wayne then turned and walked towards his Lamborghini. When Tony made a move to follow him, albeit uncertain, a firm hand landed on his shoulder.

“Don't push your luck.”

Clark steered him away, back into the direction of Hal's car.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Tony spent the day after the restaurant visit back in his cell, albeit unshackled. He was given bottled water and sandwiches from a deli by the young man he suspected to be Barry. Before he could try and initiate any kind of conversation, Barry left without any preamble and locked the door twice.

Unbeknownst to Tony, an important conversation took place several floors higher up in a sound-proof meeting room. Inside were five men sitting around an oval, black table. A Zippo lighter made from brushed Sterling silver skidded across the wooden desktop, engraved initials reading B. W.

“They want him.”  
Clark's sharp blue eyes blinked up, surprised.  
“On our terms?”

Bruce expelled a gust of smoke through half-opened lips without moving his mouth. “Apparently.” He rested his wrist against the table and watched the round of attentive faces through the smoke that curled up from his cigarette. “Provided I go in alone. Tonight. 11:30. The docks.” Reactions were instant.

“No way!”

“They are here?”

“It's a trap.”  
  
The last statement was from Clark, laced with concern. All stoic, Bruce flickered ash into a nearby tray. “Likely.” At that, Hal tipped his chair back onto all fours and leaned forward on the table, arms crossed. “They'd be stupid to attempt anything on our streets, come on. This is our stompin grounds. We'd be smoking their asses.” An approving murmur escaped the blonde, bearded man who had joined them just hours before.

Wayne took another drag of his cigarette. “Stupid is always dangerous.” When both men stopped grinning, he concluded with the same emotionless expression. “Clark and Hal take Stark in the Escalade. Barry – St. March Boulevard. Go by bike, keep an eye on things from the 5th.” While the youngster of the group gave an eager nod, Clark wore a frown for all of them to see. “And what about you? Who's gonna be your backup?”  
  
Bruce's waited until his menacing glare made Clark avert his eyes before he looked at the blonde.  
“Sniper on the roof. Graham Avenue to Willis Street.”  
Hal propped his head up on a fist and cast the man in question a wide grin.

“Time to shine, Ollie.”

~

Around what must have been late in the evening, someone unlocked the door to his solitary compartment. Tony looked up from where he had been busy folding miniature turrets out of used sandwich wrappers. Clark loomed up in the doorway, a sinister look on his face. “We're leaving.” Tony stood up. “Leaving?” The taller man slipped on a pair of dark red leather gloves. “Handover time.” Tony's stomach dropped several inches.

“I thought I was supposed to build...” Clark advanced on him, looking as if he wanted to rip his arms off. Tony inched back until he hit the wall. He yelped as he was grabbed by the shoulder. “Shut up and move.” Way before he sat behind the driver's seat, a pair of handcuffs had clicked shut around Tony's wrists. “Hey!” Clark dared him to say another word as he buckled him up and slipped onto the passenger seat in front.

Tony was able to catch a glimpse of the Escalade's middle console and realized it was close to 11 pm. Hal set the car into motion and pressed a button on the touchscreen. A young voice rustled over the speakers. “Everything's quiet on St. March.” Hal voiced his thanks and pressed another button, to which a different voice answered.

“Jordan.”

“So how's it going, Ace Archer?”

“Nothing up here.”

The third call he made got answered with a curt “Yes.”

“Anything on your six, boss?”

“Lincoln Continental with a rental license plate moving in from the east.”

Clark leaned forward.

“Sure you don't want me in?”

“Stay in position and keep Stark out of sight.”

A click that indicated Wayne had cut the connection. Tony's eyes darted from Clark's agitated profile out to the windshield and the approaching docks. Clark looked at Hal, who only shrugged. “Ollie's got him covered. Bar's gonna check the surrounding streets. We got our nines and are less than a mile away.” Clark's jaw tightened. “Fuckin babysitter job.” A mean glare was thrown Tony's way. The latter stared back, almost defiant.

“I could imagine finer situations, too, you know?” He thought he heard Hal snigger, but Clark's features darkened considerably. “I'm glad to get rid of you, 10 million dollars or not.” At that, Tony went slack-jawed for a second. “Ten million dollars?” Hal shushed their conversation as he parked the Escalade at a spot close to a large warehouse and turned off the engine and the lights.

Through the tinted windows left and right, nothing was visible in the dark, so Tony kept his gaze straight ahead. From their position, they saw Wayne stop at a spot underneath a streetlamp. By now, Clark and Hal had drawn their guns and were waiting with baited breath for their cue. A bald man with a beard, dressed in a long coat, stepped out of the Lincoln and walked up towards Wayne.

At some point, he raised his hands, revealing a slim suitcase. Tony's heart began to race as he recognized his long-time mentor and friend.

The two men seemed to converse briefly, then they saw Bruce drawing his gun. Alerted, Clark opened the door and stepped out. Hal tore his eyes from the scene. “The fuck?” With baited breath, Tony kept on watching the exchange. The Escalade blinked an incoming call which Hal immediately took. “Ollie, you in position? Looks like trouble.” The voice on the other end sounded relaxed, to which Clark's belligerent pose lessened.

“Yup. Boss just told him his seven M are worth shit.”

Hal and Clark shared a knowing if a bit exasperated look. Ollie on the other end listened in some more before he told them the final agreement. “Stark stays with us. No exchange tonight. Retreat and stay on your toes.” Feeling like his only way into freedom was slipping away right under his nose, Tony began to shift. “Now, c'mon, I can dole out the missing three, I can--”

Clark, who had been watching the Lincoln drive off, got back into his seat and shot him a furious glance.

“Shut the fuck up.”

~

After sending Barry and Ollie off for the night, Hal set the Escalade in reverse and headed back for the Tower, situated in the more populated part of Midtown. Clark kept his gaze in the rear-view mirror to make sure Wayne's Lamborghini was following them without being followed. His surly mood persisted and he forced Hal to turn off the radio. “Man, Kent, lighten the hell up, what gives? Bruce will have good reason for what he did.”

“We should've taken the damn money and get this little fucker back to where he belongs."

"Or Bruce has another plan up there in that sneaky devil brain of his, and..."

An explosion went off right behind their SUV, interrupting their conversation. The Murciélago, which had been driving a few rows behind, was right in its middle. Another driver could not break in time and crashed into the Lamborghini's side at full speed. “Oh, shit. Oh, holy fucking shit!” Hal released a stream of expletives as he wrangled the Escalade out of their lane. Clark drew his gun. “Turn around! TURN AROUND!”

“Fuck, I'm trying, man, I'm trying!”

In little to no time, the crash had turned into a multiple pile-up accident, sending another handful of cars into metal-grinding, rear-end collisions. Soon, they were wedging the junction. Chaos ruled everywhere on the street that was filled with cabs and people heading out for the weekend. Cars were honking, hazard lights flashed in the dark, and far away wailing police sirens could be heard.

Two parking meters and a newspaper vending machine fell victim to Hal's sudden and fierce u-turn as he skipped over the sidewalk and roared over to where dark billowing smoke engulfed Wayne's sports car. Even before they came to a stop remotely close to the wreckage, Clark swung the passenger door open. He was out of the Escalade and made his way through twisted heaps of metal seconds later.

Towering above the scenery in the SUV, Tony saw the Lamborghini had been totaled in a T-bone collision, its deflated airbags smeared crimson and its engine block smoldering into the dark sky. The tall black-haired man appeared moments later, arm slung around Wayne's limping form. He heaved him on the bench in the third row, scrambled in, and slammed the door shut. “Go! Gotham General!” His voice left no room to argue.

Hal nodded and pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator. The Escalade surged forward and Tony held on for dear life, clawing his shackled hands into the seat belt. Hal drove like a madman, and Tony forced himself to look away from the near-crash scenarios he provoked. Instead, he dared to glimpse into the back where Clark was kneeling on the floor in front of Wayne, trying to hold him in a steady position.

From their hushed voices, Wayne was still semi-conscious. They argued about the necessity of a hospital for the longest time until Wayne stopped responding. Clark's eyes found Tony's, and he was quick to avert his gaze to stare at the floor. There were a couple of dark-red splotches strewn all over the carpeting.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Clark was still fussing around in the back when the SUV stopped in front of a large hospital driveway. “Take Stark along.” At the command, Hal looked around his driver's seat. “Why?” The tall, black-haired man snarled in the twilight of the ER's artificial lighting. “Because I cannot deal with him and Bruce at the same time.” With a shifting motion, Tony held up his wrists into Hal’s face. “Unshackle me first. Looks a little weird otherwise.”  
  
With a rude yank at his handcuffs, the mobster did as he was told. “One try to call for help and you have a-whole-nother reason to stay here.” Tony kept a potentially snarky response to himself and just nodded. They walked side by side to check in at the front desk where a white-clad woman in her forties sat. The emergency department was crowded, a lot of people were screened and treated in the hallways **.**

“Name, address, date of birth, and reason for the visit.”

Hal snarled over the counter, pointing at the Escalade outside of the huge glass sliding doors. “We’ve got someone outside who just had a fuckin car accident. Hurry up!” The receptionist remained unfazed by his aggressive behavior. “I need an identification. Any medical jewelry or a medical condition such as diabetes, heart condition, or a drug or food allergy?” Hal gritted his teeth, hand itching to go for the holster inside his jacket.

“The fuck do I know! Listen, lady, if you don't...”

Before he could do something rash, Tony stepped forward. “Hank Palmer, I'm the patient's lawyer. The man in the car outside is unconscious and losing a lot of blood. If you do not wish to fail § 9121 b, codified at 42 U.S.C.A. § 1395dd. Emergency Medical Treatment and Active Labor Act, get a damn surgeon out there now before we'll sue your asses off.” Hal stared at him as if he were insane but nodded along. “You heard the man!”

Two physicians brought Wayne in on a wheeled gurney less than five minutes later, heading for the fast track. Clark who was trailing close behind passed Tony by without a second look and slammed the car keys into Hal’s palm. "Go and bring a bag with fresh clothes and stuff along. I called Alfred, he's prepared. And take him”, he tilted his chin towards Tony. “Back to the Tower.” Once Bruce was out of sight, Hal leaned in close to Clark.  
  
“He said he's Bruce's lawyer and that he's going to fill out the registration.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
Despite the outrage written on Clark's face, he managed to keep his voice down to a dangerous hiss. “The fuck are you planning, Stark?” Before a huge fist could curl into the front of Tony's jacket, Hal intervened. “Wait up, they bought it. Saved us a frigging discussion. Clark, man, chill, will ya.” Blue eyes narrowed. “I'll handle this from here on. Go.” Hal nodded and put a hand on Tony's shoulder to steer him outside.

At the Escalade, Tony made a move to get back into his previous seat but Hal negated. “Nope. Up here, sonny. Riding shotgun right where I see ya.” Slipping in next to him, Tony pulled the door shut and buckled up. “Ain't you gonna go handcuff me again?” Hal grinned. “D'you want me to? I could add a gag just for kicks.” A small squeal escaped the back of Tony's throat. “Been there, done that. Think I'll pass this time.”

That earned him a brief smirk from the other man right before Hal brought the SUV back into traffic. Feeling like the atmosphere was way more relaxed than during Clark's presence, Tony dared to clear his throat and speak what was on his mind. “Do you think he'll be alright?” Hal drummed the fingers of both his hands against the steering wheel which brought Tony's attention to the unique, expressive ring on his right middle finger.

“Course. Bruce is the toughest mofo I know.”  
  
~

After several examinations, Bruce Wayne was diagnosed with a moderate concussion, whiplash, and contusions and bruises of the chest and face area. He was coherent enough to gather the small party of three around his single bedroom high up the Gotham Grand's west wing. Bruce listened to Hal talking about the incidents leading to his hospital admission before Clark provided a different intel.

“They rigged your car during the attempted exchange. Barry checked the area out. Traces of C4.”

Wayne's mouth warped into a disgusted grimace. “Who didn't pay attention to those fuckers?” Awkward silence erupted. Bruce brushed off Alfred's gentle hands which were about to adjust the pillow in his back and glowered at the two men standing at the foot of his bed. “I want Stane dead. Yesterday.” His hair-trigger temper left no room for discussion. Both Hal and Clark each gave a crisp nod before they turned around and left.

Only after the door had clicked shut Bruce released a pain-filled grunt and sunk back into the pillows. “Looks like Stark's gonna pay off more than expected.” At the gruff statement, the butler dared to smile. “Do I sense a certain kind of inclination, Master Wayne?” Wayne's sullen expression never wavered. “Make sure he gets appropriate accommodation.” Alfred pulled the curtains shut for the night and bowed. “Very well, Sir.”

~

By a miracle not to be explained in reasonable form, Tony was still alive at the end of the week. His remaining injuries had been tended to by the elder personal assistant. It was also the butler who had him moved from his cell to another room inside Wayne Tower, though Tony had not been told to which floor. His abode was window-less but at least came with a proper bed and a small, if door-less, bathroom.

A new handful of clothes was at his disposal, too; nothing fancy but at least providing enough warmth against the first chills of the upcoming autumn. The tools he had been given consisted of a notebook without internet connection, paper, and blunt pencils. It was not much, but Tony Stark learned to make do. Food was always delivered, and it turned out to be a more balanced variation from his previous bread and water diet.

At the first real coffee in over ten days, Tony nearly cried from relief and gratitude. The only trouble was that his room always remained locked from the outside. After a series of nightmares, during which he was unable to get out during a fire, Tony would wake screaming and drenched in sweat. Someone apparently must have heard or noticed, because a camera was installed in the main room a day later.

As he sketched, he let his mind wander about the strange situation he was in. By now, his kidnapping surely must have made rounds in public, least of all been communicated to Pepper and Rhodey. Part of him wondered about Obadiah's whereabouts ever since the fateful night of the failed handover. Tony then thought about how he had also not seen Wayne again since the latter's hospital admission.

Following that train of thoughts, Tony pondered the chances of an escape. Some people around presumed him not to be too big a threat while others were still as hostile and wary as on day one. He had paid good attention and came to learn a bit more about the names and faces which surrounded him. Wayne's caporegime was a sworn-in, intimidating roster, even if Wayne apparently never appointed an underboss.

Clark Kent was the black-haired muscle, Hal Jordan the cheeky jokester. The lean, young guy went by Barry Allen, and there was a bearded blonde, who was not around much, called Oliver Queen. The only woman he had seen around was called Diana Prince aka 'the Princess'. She had joined Wayne's rows after taking the place of one Selina Kyle; a burglar and con-artist par excellence from what Tony had heard.

Kyle was said to have shared Wayne's company and bed for a while until she left Gotham without a trace. Prince was also running a money laundering business on the side, which Tony had once heard her refer to as 'Themyscira'. He suspected it was a code name. From the occasional comment either by Hal or Barry, various sources suspected her and Wayne to have an affair. Rumors were neither denied, nor confirmed.

A knock on his door shook him out of his straying thoughts. The electronic lock mechanism whirred seconds later.  
“Master Wayne requests your presence in half an hour.”  
Upon the shock that must have played upon Tony's face, Alfred Pennyworth clasped his hands in front of his lap.

“I will be back in 15 minutes to escort you outside.”

~

When Tony walked into the room labeled 'JLA', a handful of muzzles went up in his face in an instant. As he stood with his hands up in the air, his eyes darted over to at least ten brand new piles of cash on the table, all of them secured with bank wrappers. Bruce's sharp eyes found and rested within his as he lowered his gun.

No matter the occasion, Wayne remained totally unfazed by uninterrupted eye contact. Tony had secretly labeled the 'predator stare' and figured it should throw him off balance. Instead, it unleashed an unsettling, inexplicable feeling of infatuation in him. “What is it?” An admonitory tone swung within Wayne's brusque question. Tony swallowed but managed to hold his cold gaze. “You told me to come by at 6:30.”

Everyone else at the table stared at him. Almost in slow motion, Wayne glimpsed at his Rolex. “I did.” His gaze found the anxious faces of his caporegime, who seemed to await the severity of his reaction. Hazel eyes narrowed. “Meeting's over.” The room was empty less than ten seconds later, and Tony was left behind, feeling defenseless. He forced a self-assured stance upon himself and met the other man's gaze.

The bruises and cuts from Wayne's accident had been camouflaged and were near invisible. “You wanted to see me?” That earned him a displeased look. Wayne seemed to hate unnecessary statements and small talk. “I want you to accompany me to dinner.” Tony blinked as if he was sure he had misheard. “I... uh... what?” The dark knight rose from his chair and slipped a thick cash bundle into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“The limousine leaves at 7. Dress appropriately.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank Palmer is a character/lawyer played by RDJ in the movie 'The Judge'
> 
> The fictional character of Patrick Bateman deserves an 'honorable' mention as well, seeing it had a bit of an influence on Bruce's character here, too (Bateman... Batman... what's in a name - or in a vowel)
> 
> Just for credit and definition reasons:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caporegime  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Underboss


	6. Chapter 6

After showering and raiding the pitiful excuse of a closet in his room, Tony forced himself not to fidget too much next to the dashing silhouette of Wayne in his three-piece suit. He had picked out an all-black ensemble but still felt massively under-dressed in comparison. Wayne, however, did not seem to mind or care. His personal assistant Alfred was waiting by the back doors of a polished Bentley Arnage as they exited the Tower.

Tony's fear of stumbling through unwanted small talk vanished when Bruce Wayne reached for his phone the minute the car set into motion. “Did you take care of it?” The unknown voice on the other end spoke while Bruce's jaw worked in silence. “I'm out for dinner now. Do it. Any way you like, just finish it.” Without bothering to say goodbye Wayne hung up and pocketed his phone again. Tony cleared his throat.

“Mind if I ask where you're taking me?”

“Yes.”

At the brusque response, Tony cast his eyes out onto the scenery and watched the streetlamps flying by.

~

They ended up at a posh restaurant called The Ocelot. Unmindful of the waiting line outside they passed by undeterred, and Tony was shown just how the dark knight wielded real power and influence in Gotham. Not only did they not have to queue, they did not even have to make reservations. As soon as Wayne set a foot inside, people bent over backward to stay in his good graces.

The maître d' even shooed a young couple away to give them the best seats and returned with a bottle of champagne on the house. The look on Bruce's face scorned him for it, even if he savored the benefits with an air of superiority. With an impatient gesture at the waiter, Wayne busied himself with the menu. Tony took the hint and also opened his, going through the small selection as fast as he could.

Once they had placed their orders, Wayne took his flute of champagne and drank without bothering for a toast. “Hal told me you made a scene at the hospital.” Tony knew by now how much Wayne also hated sycophantic suck-ups, so he did not bother to make excuses. “They were going to cripple you by waiting and doing nothing.” Cold, hazel eyes drilled into his. “And what is it to you?”

Perplex, Tony put his champagne flute aside and rubbed at the sheen of moisture on his thumb and forefinger. “I'm afraid I don't follow?” Wayne's gaze never wavered. “Seeing me dead would solve a lot of your problems all at once.” His voice was baiting. The arrival of their main course interrupted Stark's potential response, seeing Wayne ordered two glasses of red wine to go with it.

Glad for the distraction, Tony waited until his opposite started slicing into his steak with utter precision.

For a while, they ate in silence.

“Mad Tony.”  
  
At that, Tony blinked up. “Sorry?” Wayne's lips curled, either with amusement or disregard. “That's what Hal started to call you. Said you were pretending to be one of them.” Tony allowed himself the first, real confident grin ever since his kidnapping. “Well, what can I say? I'm a force to be reckoned with.” Wayne put his cutlery aside at a neat angle and dropped the napkin onto the plate. “You're an opinionated little prick, that's what.”

Ignoring the way Stark's face fell, the mafia boss glimpsed at his Rolex. “As of last Sunday, the body of Obadiah Stane is dissolving in a bathtub in Hell's Kitchen in New York.” Without warning, Tony choked on the remains of his food. He groped blindly for his napkin to press against his mouth as his coughing fit persisted. Wayne regarded him with factual eyes over the rim of his glass of wine.

“You should thank me. He was a backstabbing buttfucker who hired me to get rid of you.”

“... no. That can't...”

“Are you saying I'm lying?”

“N-no, but...”

“So be grateful.”

Reeling on the inside, Tony was unable to finish his plate. Numb to the bone, he sat through Wayne's mandatory espresso and cigarette routine and stared into the small cup of brown liquid in front of him. "I want to see the blueprints.” The brusque statement jerked Tony from his jumbling thoughts. “I didn't... I wasn't told to bring them along.” Wayne scowled at him with such an intensity that Tony actually leaned back.

“Not here.”

It was said in such a disparaging tone that Tony did not dare to respond. Instead, he frowned all the way through his espresso which was too strong and too cold by now. Wayne threw two $ 100 bills on the table and stood up.

“Move.”

~

Back in the limousine, Wayne flipped a switch to which the partition wall rose and clicked shut. The feeling of being trapped caused Tony's heart to speed up. He unconsciously ran damp palms over the coarse fabric of his black pants. Wayne slid closer to him until their thighs touched. “You could become a valuable asset to the family.” A finger began to trace along Tony's jaw and chin and caused his eyes to flutter shut.  
  
“Betray my trust, however, and I'll kill you.”  
  
Dark-brown eyes snapped back open, looking alarmed. Tony swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. “I know.” Wayne's thinnish lips morphed into a satisfied grin. “Good.” Without warning, he cupped the back of Tony's head and crushed their mouths together. Bruce tasted of expensive wine, filet mignon, and faint espresso. Any objections Tony might have had were drowned out in between a skilled tongue and surprisingly soft lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credit for Mad Tony goes to the actual Mad Anthony Wayne:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthony_Wayne


	7. Chapter 7

After a phase during which the Gothamite demonstrated oral dominance, he pulled Tony onto his lap. Spurred on by his own, growing arousal, Tony dared to place his palms on Wayne's broad chest and brushed them against the two buds he could feel under the shirt. It earned him a sharp thrust of hips and he ground his pelvis into Bruce's groin in return.

Long fingers then cupped his jaw, and a spurt of fear jolted him out of his lusty haze. “Suck my dick.” At the command, Tony blinked his eyes open. Bruce's complexion was flushed, his lips redder than usual. To reinforce his statement, he pushed him backward until Tony's knees hit the carpeted floor of the limousine with a soft thud. For a few heartbeats, he sat, dazed at the current turn of events.  
  
The sound of a zipper being opened brought him back to reality. At the sight of Wayne's erect cock in front of his face, Tony obediently leaned in and did as he was told. “Faster. Harder.” Without warning, Bruce put a palm upon his hair and fucked his mouth until he came down Tony's throat. The latter forced himself not to gag at the sudden sensation and closed his eyes until he felt Wayne's shaft starting to go limp.

“Tonight, you stay with me.”  
The Gothamite's voice was marginally breathless.  
Tony sat back on his heels, wiped cum and spit off his chin as inconspicuous as possible, and nodded.

After he was taken up into the master bedroom, Bruce proved that he was just as raw and intense in between the sheets as expected. He fucked him until Tony screamed; though not from pain, but from pleasure. Afterward, Wayne got up and brushed the used condom into a nearby trashcan. From his position flat on his stomach, Tony watched him strut through the vast room without a feeling of modesty at his nudity.

In the dim illumination coming from the downlights of the bar, Tony could not help but watch his strong, still half-masted cock throb in between his muscled legs. Wayne poured himself a shot of something amber-colored and downed it in one go. “I'll have you moved to my floor tomorrow.” It ultimately impeded Tony's chances to escape from Wayne Tower even more, but he said something else.  
  
“Thank you.”

He was about to get off the bed and get dressed when Bruce pointed the tumbler at him.  
“Stay. I might want to go for seconds later.”  
At that, Tony gave a leisure stretch and showcased his lithe body to observant, possessive eyes.

“Fine with me.”

~

The next morning, Tony woke feeling sore all over and in a bed other than the small one he had gotten used to. Shower sounds from what seemed to be an adjacent bathroom reached his ears, and the events of the previous night rushed back to his mind. Just then, Wayne exited the bathroom; clean shaven, with damp hair, and only wearing a pair of tight black briefs which emphasized his muscular physique.

Tony swallowed and tried hard not to stare. Something like a sneer, albeit less scornful, flitted over the other man's countenance. “You're not used to being thoroughly fucked if you sleep like a stone.” Tony very well saw the hungry glint in his eyes and decided to be bold. The sheets slid low as he stretched in a lascivious way and blinked dark lashes up at the looming figure.  
  
“Your stamina must have tired me out.”  
A narcissistic smile crept up on Wayne's lips.  
“Go take a shower. Breakfast in ten.”  
  
In a bathroom dominated by marble and golden fittings, Tony could not help but glance around. It resembled the entire men's aisle of cosmetics and fragrances at Bloomingdale's, featuring luxury brands like YSL, Dior, and Molton Brown. A small, white bottle labeled Topamax then caught his attention. It was still sealed and unused. After he had stared at it for the longest time, noises from outside startled him.

Tony was quick to turn on the water and step into the rainforest shower cabin. Bruce was gone by the time he had finished showering, shaving, and brushing his teeth. Much to Stark's surprise, however, there was a selection of fine garments spread out on the meanwhile made bed. From underwear and socks over to a dress shirt, cashmere sweater and pants, everything was true to size.

To learn that Bruce could be solicitous and generous was a big surprise.

Even if Tony reveled in the fact he had somehow managed to garner his interest did not make him feel secure. Deep down, he suspected Wayne to be a psychopath, unable to form true emotional attachments or feel real empathy. Guilt and compunction were foreign words to him. Despite all of it, Tony still found himself attracted to Bruce's exceptionalism, like a moth drawn to a flame.

He hurried to get dressed and headed out to where he estimated the dining room to be. There, Wayne already sat and ate, a cup of coffee in one hand, Stark's blueprints in the other. An aromatic melange of poached eggs, freshly roasted coffee, and something citrusy lay in the air. Tony hovered in the doorway, unsure of the further procedure. Bruce did not even glance up and his way.

“Sit down.”

Wayne then put his fine china cup down and snapped his fingers. Less than two seconds later, the elder butler Tony had come to know as Alfred came around the corner, wearing a crisp uniform and carrying a silvery carafe in his hands. “Good morning Sir. Coffee?” With a grateful smile, Tony nodded and watched him pour the brown liquid into a cup. “How would you like your eggs, Sir?”

“Over easy would be great. Thanks a bunch, Alfred, you're the best.”  
  
A white eyebrow arched, but the butler simply indicated a bow and retreated. Bruce harrumphed. “None of this weakling shit. You tell him your order, that's enough.” Feeling chided, Tony shoveled a small amount of sugar into his coffee. “Don't mistake my kindness for weakness. I am kind to everyone, but when someone is unkind to me, weak is not what you'll remember about me. Know who said that? Al Capone.”

Without bothering to look up, Wayne gave a disdained grunt.  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
And just like that, Tony's brief stunt at the bel étage of the Miagani clan ended as abruptly as it had started. Bruce gave him the cold shoulder for the upcoming five days. Tony stayed cooped up in his new duplex apartment which came with a built-in gym of sorts so that he at least was able to entertain himself. The view from 600 feet above was magnificent, even if Gotham was not a pretty city per se.

On one of those rare occasions, when the sun decided to peek through heavy clouds and caught reflection in the surrounding harbor area, Tony found a manila envelope on his bed. He had just returned from taking a shower after a run on the treadmill. Inside the envelope were his blueprints; some missing, and many of them crossed out with a red marker. There were smallish notes on the side, labeled 'redo' or 'revamp'.

With a sigh, Tony went to fetch his notebook. Ever since all of his spartan belongings had disappeared, he was allowed to a restricted internet use. Before he did anything else he typed the word 'Topamax' into a search engine and pressed enter. It turned out to be anti-convulsive drug used in the treatment of seizures, but one which also served as a mood stabilizer for people with borderline or other mood disorders.

Quick to erase his browsing history, Tony went back to his new and improved drawing board.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Aggressive grunts and the sound of punches being thrown echoed through the vast gym of Wayne Tower. It was the first time Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne were sparring after the latter's accident and injuries sustained. They wore no protection other than boxing gloves, aiming for a body flexibility workout that focused on exercising footwork with slip, weave, and rolling movements.

“What's the deal with Stark now that we killed Stane?”

“Stark stays.”

An uppercut from Clark whooshed through the air. Bruce managed to dodge it with ease.

“How long?”

“As long as I say.”

Wayne moved forward with a jabbing left hook. It barely stopped inches from Kent's frowning face. “What's your problem, Clark.” It was not a question. They moved into a sequence of fast-paced motions before Clark answered. “I told you I'd do the no-strings-attached game." His voice was a trifle more hitched than before. Wayne arched an eyebrow all the while sizing him up for weak spots. “Really.”

Kent moved back, skipped on the spot, and shook out his arms. "Yes, really. Seems like you want none of it, though.” He was back on guard and made a lackluster attempt at getting through Bruce's blockade. “Submission never really suited you, Clark.” With teeth clenched tight, the tall man shot him a blazing look. “Oh, right, I forgot that's what you're looking for. A pawn to cope with your penchant for rough sex.”

That time, Bruce did not hold back his punch.

Clark stumbled backward and covered his nose as blood dripped onto the floor. When he looked up, the icy countenance of Wayne loomed above. “You bore me. In and out of the sheets.” Bruce then turned and walked away, pulling off his boxing gloves with slow, circumspect motions. “Go wrap up the deal with LexCorp. I want the papers on my desk by the end of next week.”

~

Tony was invited to Wayne's bedroom that evening.

He took his time to shower, shave and dress, and went with a pleasant thrill of anticipation after finally having finished one of the weapon designs Bruce Wayne had requested. As it turned out, it became nothing short of a horrifying experience. Wayne was in a worse mood than Tony had ever witnessed him before. Uncaring about the clothes he ripped off of Tony's body, he had him naked and pinned to his mattress in no time.

Without bothering for a lot of foreplay he soon was pounding into him in a relentless fashion, one hand curled in Tony's hair. At first, Tony enjoyed the rough session until he made a move to stroke himself. “No! You come like this or you don't come at all.” His head was yanked back, and he gave a yelp of painful surprise. He had never been milked to orgasm before, and most certainly not under such rough circumstances.

As a last resort, he tried to dip his pelvis lower, to at least benefit from the friction of the comforter against his dick. It brought him to orgasm minutes later, spilling into the fabric, and while Bruce noticed his release, he did not stop. By now, Tony was hyper-sensitive, and the constant thrusting started to become nothing but painful. He tried to twist and turn away, to no avail. “... please... Bru...”  
  
“Shut the fuck up!”

It came out as a hiss as Wayne's hips slammed into him again and again. Tony pressed his face into the mattress to muffle eventual screams until Bruce came with a grunt and a loud exclamation of profanities. He pulled out just as rough, got off the bed, and disappeared in the bathroom. Caught in a spaced-out haze, Tony neither registered the shower running nor Bruce's reappearance minutes later.

At the sight of the still unmoving, naked figure on the bed, something flitted over Wayne's countenance.

He threw a blanket over the shaking body and disappeared, pulling the door to his private quarters shut.

~

The mafia boss went away for business the day after their rough encounter. When he returned late in the evening two weeks later, he sent for Tony.

An anxious Stark paced his room for a couple of minutes, rubbing his arms. He then glimpsed at the butler who was hovering in the doorway, watching. “Does he... I mean... his mood?” Alfred gave an almost nonexistent tilt of his head. He had been the only one with an inkling about what had happened, seeing he ran into Tony as the latter limped back to his own room that night. “Master Wayne's meeting went successfully.”

Inhaling deep, Tony brushed over his face and nodded into his palms. "Give me a minute." Pennyworth inclined his head. "Very well, Sir." Once Tony stepped into the large suite, his heart hammered hard and fast against his chest. Wayne was sitting at his desk, dressed in a light blue business shirt and a silvery-striped tie. He was working on his laptop but looked up at Tony's entrance, face impassive as ever.

"Good evening." Tony's smile was terse. "And welcome back." Wayne nodded, flipped his notebook shut, and stood up. "Let's eat." He pointed into the corner where a table was set for two, including a bottle of wine. Tony blinked, stupefied. "Okay." They took a seat opposite of each other and raised the sterling silver food bell covers. An aromatic gust of roasted lamb, rosemary and garlic swirled up. 

Without preamble, Wayne unfolded his napkin and reached for his set of silverware. Tony did the same, slicing through the roast potatoes and mingling them with the peas on the side. For a few minutes, they ate in utter silence. "The Jericho." Wayne's deep voice prompted Stark to look up. "I want you to focus on its potential for adding a neutron detonator." Tony swallowed his current bite and put his cutlery aside.  
  
"That... could work. Only I don't have any radium at hand."  
The Gothamite's mouth warped into the tiniest smirk as he reached for his glass of red wine.  
"I do."

The question as to why and how died on Tony's tongue, drowned in a sip of expensive-tasting Cabernet. Instead of his trademark post-meal cigarette and espresso, however, Bruce Wayne beckoned him over to the large seating arrangement in the corner. A plate filled with assorted pastries and cake truffles stood on the table. "These are from Italy. Try." Sitting down, Tony did as he was told. "Very good. Very sweet."

He licked a bit of cocoa off his thumb, unmindful of the look Bruce cast him. Wayne sat down next to him and stretched one of his arms out on the headrest. "Why don't we get a little more comfortable." The fingers of his free hand had already begun to loosen the knot to his tie. It came off with a soft rustle of the fabric and landed on the floor in front of the couch. Tony gulped and stood up in a fluid motion.

“I just need to … wash my hands. Be right back.”

The Gothamite gave a generous incline of the head. In the spacious bathroom, Tony tried to breathe down his growing anxiety attack. Palms tight around the rim of the sink, his eyes darted around and came to rest on the bottle of Topamax. It had been opened and, from the look of it, already been used several times. With a final exhale, Stark looked at his reflection in the mirror, mentally steeled himself, and turned the lock.

By now, the couch was empty.

Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway to his bedroom, shirtless and barefooted, one hand in the pocket of his dress pants.

"Come here."

That night, the person who slept with Tony was a completely different man. Even if Bruce still remained in control, he went and took his time preparing Tony with lots of lube until the latter moaned out in between the sheets, cock already throbbing and leaking pre-cum. "Fuck me. Do it, come on." Instead of an answer, Bruce turned onto his back and pulled the shorter man atop of him. “Ride me. Show me how I make you come.”

His grip on Tony's hips was strong but non-bruising, at least not until Tony dipped his head back and rode out his orgasm in such an unabashed and vocal way that Wayne needed less than five thrusts to follow him over the edge. Afterward, still intimately joined, Tony leaned in, put his hands on Bruce's sweat-damped chest, and dared to press the softest kiss upon his swollen lips. “You were amazing.”  
  
It was the corniest thing to say, but it seemed to have the desired effect on Wayne's manly ego. He crossed muscular arms behind his head and gave a self-satisfied smirk. “I've got work to do early in the morning, but you can stay here. I want to go over some of the Jericho's schematics tomorrow afternoon.”

~

Tony's changed status seemed to have made rounds fast within the ranks of the Miagani. Especially Clark Kent had turned from hostile to straight up belligerent once he found him sitting in his boss' living room the next day, notebook in his lap and a mug filled with a steaming beverage on the table in front. Stark put the laptop aside and rose from the couch. “Bruce isn't here, he's...”

With a look that could kill, Clark slammed a thick manila folder onto the table and stepped closer.

“I know where he is. Question is – why are you here?”

“Because I was invited to stay.” It sounded petulant, and it made Kent scowl. “So Bruce is screwing you. That's why you still around. Didn't know he had a thing for horny little smurfs. So what's your part other than waiting all day long for Bruce to fuck you, huh?” Tony crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin with a haughty expression. “Who, why, when, and how I fuck is none of your business.”  
  
Kent leaned in with a dangerous leer, and Tony got very much aware of their difference in height and weight. “You could make yourself some more friends around here, bottom boy, just saying.” A soft click in the back indicated a door being opened and closed. Kent drew back in an instant. “Back off, Clark. He's not for you.” Bruce's voice was like sliced steel. Clark stepped out of Tony's close proximity, eyes darting from Stark to Wayne.

The Gothamite shed his jacket, exposing his semi-automatic inside its shoulder holster. “If you need a second asshole, feel free to stick around. Otherwise, fuck off. Now.” The black-haired man averted his gaze, jaw set tight, and pointed at the folder. “The LexCorp file you requested. I'll be checking out the Narrows.” Once he had left, Tony visibly sagged, sat back down, and rubbed a palm over his face.

“Be more careful.”

Bruce's voice was cold and full of reproach as he went to get the manila folder. Tony could not help but to snarl up at him. “If I knew how I would. As long as I'm cooped up here, bringing nothing to the table except doodling weapon prototypes and being your sex monkey, your guys will never take me seriously.”

At the 'sex monkey' part, something on Bruce's otherwise stoic countenance twitched. Whether it was amusement or irritation remained unclear. Wayne then slipped the shoulder holster and his SIG onto the couch and walked over to the bar to pour himself a scotch. Hazel eyes found dark brown over the rim.  
  
“You want a real job, Tony?”

 


	9. Chapter 9

After the Kent incident, something changed within their warped relationship. One day, after Bruce had long left for a so-called business trip, Tony woke in his king-size bed to find a brand new Ruger SR9 on his nightstand. On the side of the muzzle, there was a small engraving. It read 'T.S.' and Tony stared at it as if it was the very first gun he had ever seen in his whole life.

After a while, he dared to take it into his hand, still full of incomprehension. Bruce 'Dark Knight' Wayne had just given him the closest thing to an engagement gift there was. Out of habit, Tony's nimble fingers moved the slider to check the ejection port of the semi-automatic. It was empty. He frowned. Just when he thought he had figured the other man out, Wayne went and threw him for a loop.

Probing the weight and feel of the firearm in his hand, he stared out of the bedroom windows of Bruce's suite for the longest time. Then he stowed the gun away into the nightstand of the side of Bruce's bed he was sleeping on and went to take a shower. As soon as he was dressed, Tony picked up his laptop, typed 'Tony Stark' into a search engine, and pressed enter. The first picture to greet him was his burnt-out R8.

_'Tony Stark's tragic death on the Pacific Coast Highway'_

_'Billionaire dies in fiery car crash'_

_'Tragedy strikes Stark Industries again – Obadiah Stane found dead only two weeks after Stark's demise'_

_'Stark Industries' Board of Directors_ _still about_ _to appoint new CEO'_

 _'_ _Justin Hammer_ _(37) to become America's number one weapon's manufacturer'_

~

Wayne returned two days later and found the table in his private quarters set for two. Tony Stark was just putting the finishing touches to the decor and looked up at his entry. “Where did you get all of this?” Suspicion lay in Bruce's voice. Tony knew he was still adamant about him not being out in public alone. A benign smile on his lips, Tony moved over to light a candle with a multipurpose lighter.

“Alfred went to the store for me. But I did the cooking. Fettuccine with black truffle.”

Wayne narrowed his eyes. “What for?” Undeterred, Tony folded a linen napkin. “I wanted to give something back for the gift I received.” Bruce shed his coat and disappeared into the bathroom. Water could be heard running into the sink. He reappeared moments later without his business jacket. “That was a necessity. You need to be able to defend yourself when I'm not around.” His voice was gruff as usual.

Stark cocked his head and batted his lashes. “Ah, but how am I going to do that without a single bullet?” Several weeks earlier, a comment like that would have meant a bullet between the eyes. These days, Tony enjoyed testing out the limits of Bruce's thin patience and underlying, volatile nature. His 'punishment' would result in something which Tony had come to yearn for and look forward to, especially after a period of separation.

Wayne stepped up to him, and Tony did not flinch or step aside. “You need to earn them.” A whiff of Bruce's fragrance wafted over and Tony dared to run a finger down the line of pearl buttons. “By cooking your favorite pasta dish?” Wayne gave a low snort. “No.” Stark hummed. “So you're not hungry?” It was then that Bruce reached out and cupped his crotch through the thin pair of dress pants. “Not for food.”

Maybe Tony should have taken offense in having his efforts ruined by the fact that Bruce ravished him right there, bent over the table, after swiping down the decoration and tableware with a careless brush. The cock that filled him so deliciously, however, made him forget about any romantic dinner notions. They ate on the couch afterward, dressed only in boxer shorts and button-less, ripped-open dress shirts.

~

The next day, they were sitting at the breakfast table in Wayne's suite. Like most mornings, Bruce read the news on his tablet while Tony was typing away on his laptop. At some point, his brows creased in a frown. “That prick.” Bruce took a drag on his cigarette and looked up. “Who?” Tony scrolled some more before meeting his gaze. “Justin Hammer. Taking up all of my DoD deals.” Bruce exhaled smoke through his nose.

“Not my primary focus.” His eyes held a tinge of suspicion. Stark ran two fingers along his goatee and sighed. “I know, but I really want to hack into his system and bankrupt that bastard.” Wayne squinted. “Could you?” There was a baiting undertone in his voice. Tony shrug-nodded. “I've discovered a security leak in passing, and the opportunity is just too good to pass up on.” Wayne squished his smoke and got up.

After skimming along the endless rows of coding over Tony's shoulder he gave a small snort. “Do it but keep it untraceable.” The shorter man glimpsed up and pressed a kiss against the pale throat that was close to his mouth. “Thanks. Some of Gotham's banking and insurance companies could also have their accounts stripped. Or the Oval Office?” An elegant eyebrow rose. “Don't get cocky.” Stark gave a Cheshire grin.

“Just tell me if you change your mind.”  
  
While he sat, typed on and watched his actions unfold, Wayne walked into the adjacent room. Footsteps returned seconds later. “Project FR.” A slim flash drive appeared in front of Tony's nose. “Get familiar with it.” With a curl of his lips, Tony took the device and plugged it into his notebook. To Wayne's dissecting stare he studied the data for the longest time, giving noncommittal small hums or quirks of his eyebrow now and then.

Eventually, Stark looked up and met two expectant hazel eyes over the rim of his monitor. “I can see it was originally meant to be a source of clean energy, but the potential to turn the reactor into a neutron bomb is definitely there. Whoever designed it knew what they were doing.” Bruce's smile became sharp. “All I need is the right man to program it.” Tony searched for and held his gaze with practiced ease.

From that day on, Tony had a new job and a purpose. He changed nuclear codes faster than most hackers would be able to and modified the Jericho into a long-range missile launcher. Bruce Wayne never uttered a single word of praise, but there was a 17-round magazine waiting for Tony on the nightstand one evening.

~

“The fuck is your problem, Clark?”  
Hal sat next to his comrade in the car and rolled a chewing gum wrapper between thumb and index finger.  
“He's my problem.”

They watched Stark get out of the passenger seat of Bruce's newest Lamborghini Aventador, dressed in a fitted suit, his hair gelled back. Hal gave a lopsided grin and flicked the paper out of the driver's window. “I don't mind the dude. Bossman's been rather chill ever since. So what if Bruce is fucking his brains out? I heard Diana scream out your name last night. Four times.” His grin turned lewd and Clark narrowed his eyes.

“None of your fucking business, Hal.”

Jordan nodded, all the while clicking his tongue. “Quite literally not, no. But you'd have to think of something good to get your right-hand-man spot back.” He tilted his head over to where Tony was just lighting Bruce's smoke in front of Wayne Tower. Clark Kent said nothing and exited the BMW in one swift motion, slamming its door shut.

 


	10. Chapter 10

It was already way past six when the phone in Bruce's apartment rang. Tony, who had been waiting for Wayne to return from his latest appointment and pick him up for dinner, looked at the landline display. And frowned. Bruce was calling him from his mobile. All suspicious, Tony picked up.

“Hello?”

“Change of plans. Come down into the garage. Pack a bag. For you as well.”

Before Tony had time to open his mouth, the line went dead. Once he entered the garage, requested belongings packed into two sleek designer duffel bags, Wayne and Kent were standing there in their suits, holding a casual conversation. They stopped talking when his steps echoed on concrete. The mafia boss pointed his chin at his brand new Aventador in the corner. “Go ahead and put them in the trunk.”

Tony fumbled around for his set of spare keys Bruce had given him a few days earlier. Sweat started to break out in the small of his back when all of his pockets came up empty. “I... must have left them upstairs. Let me just go get...” With a curt shake of the head, Wayne reached into his pocket. The Aventador opened with a double blip. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Tony opened the trunk and placed the bags inside.

“Where are we going?”

His question lingered in the air as he ducked back out of the trunk and slipped the bonnet shut with care. It was then that a click of a safety lock behind him made him stop dead in his tracks. “We're not going anywhere.” Aghast, Tony turned around and found himself staring down the muzzle of Bruce's semi-automatic. “W-- what!?” Bruce regarded him with the same hateful expression from their very first meeting.

“You thought a bug in the autotronics computer would go unnoticed?”

Stark gaped at him, so Wayne made a waving motion with his gun. “Go on, start the car.” Numb, Tony did as he was told. The Aventador sprang to life with a mighty roar. Wayne appeared in the open door, gun still trained on Tony. “Press the brakes.” After trying a few times, Tony gulped. “They feel spongy, like...” He cast big, scared eyes up to meet the eyes of the man he had come to share a bed with. Wayne's were cold and unforgiving.

“Out.”

The sports car's engine died down. “This has gotta be a mistake. Bruce, I swear I didn't...” Tony's sneakers crunched on the concrete floor. “Shut up, you backstabbing sonofabitch.” Tears began to brim in Tony's eyes, and he gave a couple of angry blinks.“Listen to yourself! Like hell I had something to do with this! How can you believe I would do this?” Not a single, identifiable emotion crossed Wayne's even features.

Behind him, Clark Kent watched the scene unfold in sadistic satisfaction. The mafia boss tilted his head. “I told you, they all betray me.” His thumb cocked back the hammer. “And I'm always right.” A single shot rang out, its echo bouncing off of the walls. With a disbelieving expression, Tony witnessed how Kent sunk down on his knees with a thud. Gun still trained on him, Wayne walked over to retrieve his gun from its holster.

“How the tables have turned.”

Kent remained kneeling on the floor, clutching his side that was stained crimson. “I fucking trusted you, Clark.” Two pain-filled blue eyes drilled into him. “No. You fucking trust nobody, Bruce.” The mafia boss squared his shoulders and raised his chin as he shoved Kent's gun into the waistband of his pants.

“Still, you were delusional enough to think you could get away with plotting behind my back. Taking the keys from Tony to make it look like he was responsible.” Voice serene, Wayne tilted his head. “Or maybe you wanted me dead after all. In any case, you know what that means, Kent.”

“YOU LEFT ME NO CHOICE!” The veins in Clark's throat began to stand out. “YOU FUCKED ALL OF US OVER BY BRINGING HIM IN!” Tony watched the scene between the two men unfold with baited breath. Bruce, on the other hand, remained infuriatingly calm. “Maybe you're right. It was my fault.” His semi-automatic flashed in the artificial light of the garage. Clark panted out loud and raised a pacifying hand.

“Bruce, listen, this doesn't have to...”

Not acknowledging him, Wayne balanced the gun between his thumb and index finger, looking pensive. “It was my fault for making you think I'd care.” The trigger inched back with a soft click. Alarmed, Clark stared up. “Bruce, come on. I won't be getting in your way ever again.” The muzzle lowered slightly, leaving the tall man to stare wide-eyed at his boss' impassive face. “Are you sure?” An emphatic nod.  
  
“Fuck, yes!”  
One corner of Bruce's mouth twitched.  
“I'm not.”  
  
Another shot echoed through the air. Tony averted his gaze as Clark Kent toppled backward, a bullet between the eyes. Once Wayne turned around, Stark was now pointing his own gun at him. They stared at each other for a few heartbeats. “We both know you won’t kill me.” Bruce's voice was laced with its usual arrogance. Tony swallowed and cocked the hammer, his hand shaking. “You sure about that?” Bruce's icy stare never wavered.

“Yes.”  
Eyes darting to Kent's lifeless body in a pool of crimson, Tony exhaled and lowered the gun.  
“Fuck. Fuck this shit."

Bruce unlocked a huge black Audi from afar. “So the merchant of death comes with a conscience. I calculated as much.” All incredulous, Tony spread his arms. “You knew it was him the whole time? And yet you took it that far?” Bruce said nothing and walked over to the SUV in the corner. “Take the bags.” Tony did and followed him, incredulity still present. “Can we talk about the fact that I thought you were going to kill me?!”

He dumped the weekenders into the trunk as Wayne got into the car and buckled up. When Tony joined him, Bruce's mouth was at a displeased angle. “You're alive, he's dead. End of story.” He put the Audi in reverse and maneuvered around Clark's lifeless body. Tony refused to look at it. "Where are we going?” The metal gate of the garage slid open with a rattling sound and the Q7 surged up the ramp with force.

“Somewhere safe.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

The Audi sped through the night, heading down Gotham's many winding streets. Inside the vehicle, Tony stopped clawing his hand into the door handle grip and threw his merciless driver a look. “What about Hal and Ollie?” Wayne readjusted his palm on the leather steering wheel, keeping a constant velocity. “We have to assume they knew about Clark's plan.”

Tony's jaw was clenched as he cast his eyes back up front. He watched on how the buildings grow fewer left and right and how the streets turned wider as they left the city center and headed for the outer rims. “Assume? Haven't you bugged their rooms, too?” A glacial stare. "Careful." The icy tone prompted Tony's face to soften with embarrassment. He snapped his mouth shut and ran a palm over his face.

“It makes me wonder if I'm the next person with a hole in the head.”  
The mafia boss glimpsed into the rear-view mirror, then back on the road.  
“Depends on when you're going to try and betray me.”

At his flat statement, Stark's features twisted with incredulity. “For real? I mean, damn, I choose to go down the Bonnie and Clyde route for you. How much more proof do you need?” Wayne gave a low snort as he switched lanes. “You're fucking delusional if you think I'm going down in a stolen Ford riddled with bullets.” They slowed down enough for a passing police car to speed past them with flashing lights.

It took a while until Tony realized he had been holding his breath. He took a few gulps of air to get rid of the sudden dull, lightheaded feeling. “Which is why we should leave Gotham for a while and regroup somewhere no one expects us to.” Bruce squinted at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Stark sniffed. “My mansion. Point Dume, Malibu. If my assistant hasn't turned it into a museum, that is.”  
  
Wayne's jaw worked for a while, prompting an uncomfortable silence to spread out in the SUV. “Once we show up in California, people will know what happened to Tony Stark.” Tony gave a shrug and tug of the lip combo. “As far as I'm concerned, Tony Stark died in that car crash back on the PCH, over three months ago. And if I don't show my face, and neither do you, we should have enough time to scheme.” 

Long, dexterous fingers reached for the toggle of the Audi's middle console and began to browse a virtual address book. Tony caught a glimpse of an entry called 'WE Aero". Bruce then slipped a thin device into his left ear and spoke a few cryptic words to whoever picked up the call at the very first ring. After a brief talk that ended without goodbyes, Wayne accelerated and steered the Q7 towards the next exit.

“If this doesn't work, you'll end up wishing you would have.”  
Tony's stomach reeled from the odd statement and a rush of adrenaline at crossing multiple lanes at once.  
"What?"

"Died on the PCH."  
The tiny smirk died on Tony's lips as he saw there was no humor in Bruce's words.  
In the distance, a control tower and runway lights came into view.

~

High up in the sky, on a night-flight aboard a Wayne Enterprises' corporate jet that had been chartered on short notice, Tony went to the small lavatory as soon as the seat belts sign flickered off. Once he returned, Bruce stared from the tablet PC in his hand up at his clean-shaven face. “What the hell?” Tony took a seat opposite him. “Maybe I'm a little superstitious, okay? Also, don't I look at least five years younger?”

The Gothamite grunted with an irritated crease of his brows and looked back at his pad.  
“You're a goddamn nuisance, that's what."  
Wordless, Tony rose again, only to come back with a small white bottle in his hand.

“I like you better when you're in the mood to fuck over everyone else instead of me.”  
There was a thin, edged humorous undertone to his voice that held a touch of fear.  
Wayne snatched the Topamax from his hands and popped two pills into his mouth.  
  
“This isn't a fucking hoax.”  
His lover handed him a bottle of sparkling water and toasted him with one of his own.  
“No, it's not. It's gonna be fucking legendary. That's what it is.”

~

The drive from a private airfield over to Point Dume felt like a blur. From his place in the driver's seat of a rented navy-blue Chrysler 200, Tony eyed the scenery outside the windshield, almost failing to recognize any familiar landmarks. It was already 1:56 am by the time he put the car in neutral gear and stared ahead. Stark Mansion lay deserted and dark at its front row position close to the ocean.

Next to him, movement erupted as Wayne unbuckled and slid out of his seat, so Tony was quick to follow suit. A foreign feeling of being home washed over him as he prepared to disarm the security system he himself had designed. As soon as they stood inside the dark lobby, lights in the back switched on as if on their own accord. "Sir?" Almost instantly, Bruce's SIG went up. "The fuck?"

"My - my AI. Jarvis. He's..."

Tony dared to put a hand upon the muzzle of Wayne's semi-automatic, gently forcing it down and glimpsed around the empty foyer. "Hey, buddy. It's me, Tony." It took a few moments until there was a reply. "I have been informed about your demise 98 days ago. I am more than delighted to discover all calculations have been false." Bruce kept his weapon drawn but pointed at the floor. Tony blew out his cheeks and rubbed his nape.

"Yeah, that's actually a very wild story. Listen, J, I promise I'll tell you everything in a little while, but for now we're gonna need access to project server 001/08. Do you still have that one?"

"Certainly, Sir."  
Stark then looked at his quiet and wary-looking counterpart.  
"Let's head downstairs."

Tony led the way down the concrete circular stairway, punched in his code and inhaled deeply as the familiar smell of his basement workshop engulfed him. Under the watchful eyes of the mafia boss, he brought his mainframe to life, skipped half a dozen security breach warnings and opened a nondescript file. Bruce Wayne took a step back, hand hovering close to his holster, as the room filled with life-sized holographics.

“Project Iron Man.”  
  
Tony's offhand remark did not prompt Bruce to speak, but his arched eyebrow spoke volumes. The Californian billionaire then spread his arms with a dangerous grin. “Has been on my drawing board for quite a while, but now might be a good time to put it into action.” A sideways glance. “And then what?” Stark reached up and made a swiping gesture at the model of an armored suit until another variation appeared.

“One suit for me to act as your bodyguard and one for you, should your ex-clan members decide not to be on our side anymore.” Bruce's astute eyes roamed over the schematics. “I doubt either Hal, Ollie, or Diana would dare to argue against these.” A feral smirk hovered at the edge of his mouth. Tony mimicked it. “For sure. No one's gonna get in our way if we wear these. No one.” Hazel met dark-brown. "Who else knows about this?"  
  
Bruce's voice held a warning undertone, making Tony gnaw at the corner of his bottom lip. "No one, I mean... practically no one. Theoretically..." He met Wayne's cold gaze. "See, these were originally meant for the military, you know, like, the ultimate soldier-fighting-machine. Turned out the DoD does have its limits, financially, and so here I am, stuck with the prototypes of high-tech armored combat suits."

Wayne regarded the digital blueprints once again. "How fast can they be manufactured?" Stark made a vague gesture. "Couple of days up to four weeks, tops. I still need to figure out how to install a small power source with enough juice to last a lifetime." The Gothamite pondered all of what he had just witnessed with the same, unperturbed expression Tony was used to. “You know what that means.”  
  
Bruce's statement made Tony squint at his 3D designs again, looking pensive.  
"That I need to hack into the DoD and remove all traces of the project to be on the safe side?"  
Wayne's lips parted in a rogue grin.  
  
“It means unlimited power.”

Just when the permanent scowl on Bruce's face had started to lessen, the security camera in the top corner of the workshop sprang to life with a soft, electric buzz. The two men looked up from the holodesk. Once again, Bruce Wayne reached for his holster and drew his gun. "Who is that?" He glared at the silhouettes of two people huddling at the doorway of the mansion's main entrance.

Busy staring at the little figures, Tony flinched at the distinctive sound of a gun being reloaded.  
"No, don't, they..."  
His eyes held a tinge of worry.  
  
"... they are my friends."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the long wait! I revamped the original plot and wrote myself into a corner. There might be one or maybe more chapters, depending on how fast I can get back into the groove of this verse.


	12. Chapter 12

He sprinted upstairs to find his personal assistant and his best friend from MIT standing in the foyer. Pepper all but recoiled upon seeing him, and James Rhodes had to steady her to make sure she would not fall. “Oh my God. Oh my God! Tony!? You are... what... I mean, what are you doing here?” Tony tried for humor and spread his arms with a pointed expression. “I live here? This is my home.”

He narrowed his eyes before either of them could get another word in. “What are you doing here?” Pepper and Rhodey shared a look, then the redhead ran a hand through her ponytail. “I got an email alert that the security settings had been recast, I... gosh, I was about to contact the police because I thought someone was trying to break in!” They were still standing at an awkward distance towards each other.

Tony frowned at the mistrust and incredulity that shone back at him. “There's no need for that. I am fine.” He twisted and turned as if to display and verify the state of his well-being. With a strangled sounding sob, Pepper flung herself at him and Tony returned her embrace. Once she had drawn back, Rhodey stepped into her place and squeezed him tight. “Yeah, okay... okay, that's... ouch, platypus, you're squishing me.”

Rhodes stepped back, unsure if he was joking or not. Tony rubbed his ribcage. “Still a little sore here and there.” Pepper's eyes shone with brimming tears. “But... but you -” Her voice faltered trying to make logic out of this. “Why didn't you contact us?”

“Because he has been busy finding his place.”

All of them swung around. Tony's friends stared at the groomed man who had materialized out of nowhere, striking a commandeering stance in a crisp navy business suit without a tie. “His... place?” They took turns gaping from the stranger to their friend and back. Tony's mouth curled into a meek smile. “Pep, Rhodey, this is Bruce.” James' eyes widened for a split second. “As in Bruce Wayne, mafia boss from Gotham?"

Neither Tony nor Bruce made a move to affirm or deny, so James pressed on, sounding alarmed. “Obadiah Stane said he was the one who attacked and kidnapped you! Why are you on his side?” Wayne shook his head with a tsk. “There was no side for him to go over to. It was a logical conclusion.” He then walked over into their direction with an ease of absolute power and came to stand right behind Stark.

“The criteria to determine friend from foe is irrelevant when you never know whom you can trust at the end of the day.” His two friends both frowned at Tony's protracted silence, and even more at the way he snuggled up to Wayne's broad physique as the latter put a hand upon his shoulder. "Yeah? Then why should he trust you of all people?" James shared a look with Pepper who nodded along, not trusting her voice.

Holding Tony in place against his chest, Bruce sneered back at the other man. “How can you claim to be his friends when neither of you tried to get him back?” Incensed at the accusation, Rhodes stepped forward. “Because we didn't know!” Wayne, taller than all of them, bestowed a very flat and unimpressed expression on him. “Not the best position for some supposedly best friends.” Rhodey jabbed a finger at the Gothamite.

“Stop warping reality here, you lunatic.” When Bruce reached inside his jacket and pulled out a gun, James stepped back and held up his palms. "Hey, man..." Tony twisted in his one-armed grip and reached up to put a hand on his arm. “Bruce, please...” The mafia boss and Rhodes locked eyes for the longest time until Wayne slipped the huge semi-automatic gun back into the hidden holster.

“I think it's best if you make up your mind about which side you are going to be on.”  
His eyes traveled over to where Pepper Potts regarded him and Tony with her mouth slightly agape.  
“Not a word to anyone, or you will regret this. Deeply.”

+

After a shaken Pepper and a subdued Rhodey had driven off, Bruce's hand once more came to rest on Tony's shoulder. "Let's go back to work." Stark kept on staring after the disappearing taillights of the car. His right cheek twitched. "Promise me you won't harm them. They will do as they said." Long fingers tightened around his flesh for a second. "Don't stay too attached to the past." They then steered him back inside.

The holographics inside the workshop were still flickering in the same way as before. Tony watched Bruce inspect the suit specifications with renewed interest and cleared his throat. "Okay, speaking of work - I need to know what's on the agenda. I never got around to actually initiate project FR, and while the Jericho is ready to be fabricated, it's only in theory." Bruce looked at the way he ticked off his fingers as he spoke.

"Those can wait. Finish those armored suits first, then we'll have an even better leverage."

Tony gave an appraising motion of his hand. “Yeah, but what about cracking the Pentagon security system? The DoD needs to be taught a lesson for giving my deals over to that tool Justin Hammer.” The Gothamite tore his eyes away from the graphics. “Pointless. The main focus is the White House.” They looked at each other for several heartbeats. Tony's eyebrows rose. “You really wanna...” Bruce gave a slow, emotionless nod.

His lover looked part impressed, part sardonic. “Wow. Okay, wow. So – Oval Office. And then what? We make him an offer he can't refuse?” Now Wayne's gaze held a manic glint. “Something like that.” Bobbing his head along slowly, Stark then squared his shoulders and put his arms akimbo.

“Jarvis: Initiate production process, model Mark 5.1. Measurements as given. Regarding the color scheme do the hot-rod red and gold for me, and for Bruce...” He paused, looking at his lover. "... the matte black."

+

The windows shattered with a sickening crunch, sending glass splinters flying.

Instant smoke filled the room, to which all of the present bodyguards sprang into action. Drawing their guns they pointed them at the dust cloud and the two tall, metal humanoids who had materialized out of its middle. Bullets ricocheted off their chest plates. Without preamble, they both raised their arms and fired off several blasts until all of the security guards lay at their feet, groaning and immobilized.

Iron Man's motionless eye slits roamed around the room and rested upon two guards who tried to get back on their feet. He aimed a glowing blue palm at them. “Ah, ah, ah. Don't try anything fancy.” His other hand then made a gallant sweep at the second suit to which the matte black humanoid walked past.

The armor opened with a soft electronic whirr and out stepped Bruce Wayne, looking like a high-class business tycoon in a tailor-made suit. Uncaring about the chaos left and right, he headed straight for the man who cowered behind his slanted, semi-destroyed desk. “Good morning, Mr. President. Now that we've got your attention, there are a few things I'd like to discuss with you.”

President Ellis cast a wide-eyed stare up at the infuriatingly calm man. “Who... who are you?” Thin lips curled in an elusive manner. “The answer to all of your pathetic, ideological attempts. Provided you are cooperative, no one dies. Yet.” President Ellis tried to uphold a neutral, professional mask. “What are your demands?” His voice still shook. Wayne leaned in close. A dangerous smile flitted across his face.  
  
“Let's talk about the nation's nuclear arsenal.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

“Are you really sure this is a good idea?”  
He cast the woman by his side a pointed look.  
“NOW you ask.”

They waited as they were scanned for weapons or other objects not allowed inside the building.  
“Reason for your visit.”  
The voice sounded mechanic.

“Appointment with the President at 2:30.”

“Code?”

Hal Jordan threw Diana Prince a helpless glance.  
“No one said anything about a freaking code.”  
She eyed the tall humanoids which were blocking their way in at the main gate.

"375."  
All armored suits stepped back and stood at attention in one single motion.  
"Proceed to the lobby. Wait for instructions."

As soon as they were inside, Hal leaned in to hiss at his female companion.  
"The fuck, Diana?"  
She honored his crudity with the barest curl of her lip.

"I prefer to be prepared."

They took a seat on a couch made from blue brocade upholstery and regarded their surroundings. After five minutes during which nothing happened, Hal began to get antsy and shook his left leg. "This is a trap. He's gonna call in those Terminator machines from the door and kill us in cold blood in here and nobody will know how and where we died."

"Nah, that would be really bad manners, wouldn't it?"

At the sarcastic male voice, Hal and Diana turned around. Several feet away stood Tony Stark, dressed in a fitted navy-colored suit, grinning.

“Sorry for making you guys wait." He made an inviting gesture to which they rose to their feet. "I'm afraid you gotta make do with the First Lady for now, which, respectfully, would be me. It's a joke that never fails to entertain 'round here.” Hal's face scrunched up in confusion as he and Diana were escorted further into the White House. “You and Bruce...” Stark nodded in a very matter-of-fact manner.

“Yeah, we got hitched before Bruce got inaugurated. Small ceremony, nothing fancy.” Diana could not help but harrumph. “The media called it the start of Wayne's reign of terror.” Her words prompted Tony to hum. “Ah, bad press. We're still working on it.” They walked through long winding corridors until one of them turned into a well-appointed vestibule. An elegant red-haired assistant looked up from her computer.

“The Head of the Federal Reserve wants you to give him a call.” Stark clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Tell Fox I'm with him in ten. No phone calls till then - unless it's Rhodey. Thanks, Pep.” She nodded and reached for her headset. Stark closed the door to his office with an agile move and motioned for his guests to have a seat. “Sooo, how's things since your buddy Clark decided to fuck up the organization?”

Diana's eyes blazed with a challenging glint. “We didn't have anything to do with it!” Tony tapped a finger against his soul patch, showing off his wedding ring in the process. “A good thing all of your recent records came back clean indeed, even though you and Clark... you know." She glared at him, fists clenching on her lap. Before her anger got the best of her, Hal took it upon himself to divert Tony's attention.

“We want to speak to Bruce.”

Stark nodded along, displaying an understanding that seemed disinterested, bored, or a mixture of both. “Everybody does. I just gotta make sure it's worth his time, y'know?” Hal could not help but snort. “Spoken like a true bodyguard.” A jackal grin. “Hey, I might be called the First Lady, but I bet you never saw Jackie O. do this.”

Tony then extended his left arm up into the air and within seconds, a red-golden metal gauntlet wrapped around his limb. He flexed the construct into a fist, once, before pointing it at Hal, leaving him to stare wide-eyed at the repulsor beam inside the palm that started to whine and gleam bright blue. “Cognitive-controlled armor. So fancy. I'm still experimenting with it, but I'm loving the results so far.”

His fingers wiggled at Jordan, almost like a mock wave. Hal forced himself to stop holding his breath. “What are you, man, a live wire?” That made his opposite laugh out loud, exposing two rows of even, white teeth. “Most people call me flippant, privileged, or demeaning, but I'll take live wire any day.” A knock on the door, then Pepper peeked into the office. “Sorry, Tony, but Colonel Rhodes is on line 2.”

Stark lowered his gauntlet and nodded. Two small taps against his right ear with his index and middle finger, then he began to speak. “Platypus. In control, ready to end mankind with some satellites full of nukes?” Hal and Diana frowned at his jovial ways as Stark put his feet on the desk and crossed his ankles. The person on the other end spoke, to which Tony's expression turned from attentive to downright delighted.

“Gotcha. I'll tell him. Remind me I owe you for the amazingly raunchy night I am about to have.” After the call had ended, Tony went to type something into a slim display attached to his desk. Once done, he focused back on his two guests. “Looks like you've actually picked a very good day to come groveling at Bruce's feet.” Hal extended a leg and cursed softly as he bumped his shin against the desk. “Is that so.” Stark nodded.

“No, really. Two more nations finally surrendered after a, quite frankly, tiresome besieging.”  
Diana stared at him as if he were insane, one of her eyebrows arching.  
“You're quite chipper about this whole gig.”

“Why yeah, what's not to love? We're living the high life with money, power, and sex – lots of sex. It's like a parallel universe where Bonnie and Clyde made it out alive to kick more ass.” The display on his desk gave a low beep. Tony instantly leaned forward and touched it. “Yes?” A deep voice resounded through the room. “Jordan and Prince?” Diana threw Hal a knowing look while Tony put his finger on the glass panel.

“Right here. Shall I send them in?”

There was no further answer, but Stark seemed to take it as his cue and got to his feet. “Alright. Rise and shine, fellas.” Hal pulled a face as he got up. Diana crossed her arms but obliged. Once again, Tony lead the way out of his office and down an imposing colonnade filled with paintings and artsy exhibits. More humanoid guards stood at every entrance, eye slits dark until their motion sensors caught movement.

“Hey now, don't look so tense. I went and put a good word in for you in advance. I remember you being nice to me back in the days, Hal, getting me water. Never forgot that.” Tony stopped at a massive wooden paneled door that was guarded by two heavily armored suits. “So, here we are. Try not to mess up your chance. There won't be another one.” He reached out to twist the doorknob and let them in.

The first thing Hal and Diana saw was a massive desk made from black wood sitting in front of a huge glass front. It was empty except for a sleek monitor and keyboard on the left, a silver pen and pencil holder and stationery on the right. The American and the Presidential Flag were lined up in the back, left and right of what was another humanoid armor. Opposed to all previous suits, it was made from matte black.

The man in the executive chair sat, elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled in front of his body, and watched them.

"So." Jordan tried for comedy relief. "Do we call you Mister President now, or...?"

Wayne's steely gaze never wavered.

"Don't waste my time, Hal."

He eyed the man who lingered in the doorway and gave a curt nod. Tony stepped into the Oval Office and closed the door behind him. Diana and Hal's body language turned into well-hidden fear at being cornered. "We are here because..." Bruce Wayne rose from his chair, effectively cutting Diana short. "I know why you're here." Hands clasped behind his back, he went for the windows of his office.

"But are you willing to do what it takes to stay?"

"We wouldn't be here if that wasn't the case." 

"That's what Ollie and Barry said, too."  
Bruce looked over his shoulder, a nasty little smirk on his face.  
"Not so famous last words."

Diana was the first to break the silence that had set in.  
"What do you need us to do?"   
The Gothamite walked back over to his desk and clicked on the monitor.

"Alfred: Limousine down at the gate in five."  
Bruce then looked at the apprehensive faces of his former clan members.  
"Tony will fill you in."

At the mention of his name, Stark sashayed over to where he stood.  
"Don't work so late, we gotta celebrate tonight."  
Hal and Diana politely averted their eyes at the kiss that followed.

Tony then shooed them out of the office and motioned for them to head for the elevator up front.  
"Sure about this, Di?"  
At Hal's whisper, she looked back one last time before the doors closed behind Wayne.  
  
"What choice do we have."

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to end this verse here, for lack of better options. There is still a chance I might come back, either for editing purposes or if inspiration strikes again. In any case, thanks to anyone who has been reading.


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